On Any Given Night
by finitejest
Summary: Rearranging the series on a whim to create my own little story line. Set inside the Tritter arc, but only loosely.


CHAPTER 1

As House sat playing guitar, he slowly felt the fury and frustration start to drain away. Music always seemed to do that for him. The end of the song came and he blended the start of another into it without even thinking. He didn't think about having to put his apartment back together again either, or about the single bottle of Vicodin he left (12 pills, exactly), or about how he was going to handle Tritter. For a few minutes, his mind was calm and still.

And then the doorbell rang, and his fingers missed the chord. "Dammit!"

It was a short walk over, and he didn't bother with the cane as he maneuvered around bits and pieces of his life strewn across the floor. The door opened just a crack to reveal a casually dressed Cameron.

"Hi, House."

"You're not coming here to quit again, are you? Because frankly, I'm not in the mood tonight." It came out his mouth without even thinking about it, uncensored and corse, like many of his barbs.

"No, you haven't done anything lately to piss me off that much."

He grunted. "What do you want?" House knew what he wanted. He wanted her to be gone, a pill, a glass of scotch and his music until he was comfortably numb again.

Instead of answering, she peered around him at the wreaked state of his apartment "What happened?"

Game up. House sighed and opened the door wider, "Rearranging a few things?" he tried sarcastically, but she didn't buy it and pushed past him into the living room to survey the damage.

"No way, this was Tritter wasn't it? He searched your place."

He rolled his eyes, because he was tired and somehow she usually found things out anyway; there was no point denying it. "Would you like to come in?" He tried instead, "Some coffee? Oh wait... I'm really not sure where they put the coffee maker. Perhaps some other time though?"

She turned and eyed him, standing by the still open door. He was leaning on it, the door knob his stand-in cane. She was used to his sarcasm now though, and it rolled off her back easily. "That's okay, I'm wired enough as it is." And then a pause. "I could help you clean it up," she offered more quietly.

House looked around again at the wreckage. He didn't need the help, it would be slow going but he could put it all back himself, he definitely didn't need Cameron hanging around, her kindness rubbing off on everything of his she touched. But she had already started picking up things up and putting them back in the obvious spots before he could say anything to her at all. So he shut the door and limped back over the couch.

Cameron had a feeling helping House clean up his apartment would involve her doing the work and him directing from some suitably comfortable location. And she was right. House had picked up his guitar again and was idling strumming it while she moved through his living room. He didn't say much other than to point her in the right direction for a few pictures and books. It was a strange quietness between them. As she straightened a picture on a far wall, he switched to playing a sad slow song with rich blues tones. She was out of his line of sight, and so she let herself stop for a moment and just let the music wash over her with her eyes closed. He played beautifully.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't realize that the music had stopped until she heard House's voice close behind her.

"Do you want a scotch?" He was pouring himself one and had the bottle poised above a second glass.

She considered. "Sure."

He handed the glass to her and sat down again, propping his leg up. With the hot burn of the scotch going down his throat he felt ever so slightly more social. "So are you going to tell me why you showed up on my doorstep? Surely you didn't come over just to clean the mess Tritter left. After all, you couldn't have known." He was fishing, just a little. Just to see if she really was innocent on all counts. The expression on her face told him everything he needed to know.

"No... I didn't know he had done this." She was sitting on a chair across from him, and gulped down a mouthful of the scotch. Probably faster than she should of, judging by the small cough that escaped. "Sorry, I was just worried I guess. With Tritter sniffing around, and your prescriptions cut off..." she trailed off and stared down at her glass.

She knew expressing concern for the caustic doctor would not be received well, but she was perceptive enough to see the toll the whole ordeal was taking on him. She had firmly drawn the line between House and work and House anywhere else, and promised herself that she would walk on the safe side of that. But even if she considered him nothing more than a friend, she would have been concerned enough to stop by, see how he was doing. She told herself she wasn't doing anything she wouldn't do for Foreman, or Chase. It was a pretty good lie.

House scoffed, "So you thought you'd stop by, maybe find me a little bit drunk, a little bit lonely, and get me spilling my feelings all over the place?" He scrunched his face up and affected his best poor me voice, "'Oh Dr. Cameron, I just don't know what to do, the mean Police Officer is making my life hell. Will you hold me and make it all better?'"

She thought his sarcasm was a just a little weak tonight, without its usual effort. "Are you?"

"Drunk, lonely or going to spill my feelings?"

"Yes"

He laughed at that, a short rough sound without any real mirth. "The drunk part I'm working on, cheers!" and he swallowed the rest in a single gulp. "Go home Cameron. You've done your Mother Teresa do-good deed of the day. I'm fine, and now so is my living room thanks to you. You've put Humpty Dumpty back together again."

She sighed and moved over to sit next to him, "House, I know you hate sympathy, but this isn't sympathy. And I know this is bothering you more than you're letting on. This isn't one of your games, you could lose your license or go to jail and I just wish you could be serious about it. Sticking your head in the sand and being sarcastic isn't going to make this go away. In fact, having met this guy, I think it would make it worse. I just want to help, that's all. Is that so horrible?"

Cameron had started the slow burn in him back up. He _was_ serious. Seriously angry and seriously tired of being at the mercy of someone elses whims and bad moods and seriously tired of dealing with all the crap that this cop had stirred up in his life. His stood up, eyes flashing. "Dr. Cameron, I am sorry if I'm not exhibiting the emotional reactions that you think I should, but to be honest, I didn't invite you here and I certainly didn't invite your opinion. I am well aware of my situation and I can assure you that I am doing everything in order to handle it." He hoped it would be enough to piss her off and convince her she had someplace better to go.

But instead, she stood up too and just looked at him, seeing through his bluster, "House," and lay a hand on arm. The fight seemed to deflate out of him and she surprised him by pulling him into a hug. Her arms wrapped around him and her head rested on the crook of his shoulder and he just stood there, awkward and unsure what to do, but not pulling away either. She was warm and solid. "I just wish you'd let me in sometimes. At least let me be a friend if you won't let me be anything else." she whispered. After a few more moments, she let him go and tried to find his eyes. But he was looking down at the sofa, at the pictures on his wall, at anything but her.

Cameron sighed and figured she had tempted the fates enough for one night, she walked around him towards the door. It was a warm hand around her wrist that stopped her, pulling her back towards him. "You don't have to go," he said, "If you don't want to. I still need to put the bedroom back together."

It was lecherous and suggestive, and it could have meant nothing at all. With House things were never straight forward. She raised her eyebrow at him. Maybe it was the closest thing he could come to admitting that, for at least one night, he didn't want to be alone.


End file.
